[Cobalt Mountains] Money Talks, Knights Walk [Xalet]

[Sighard]

Winter 20th, 511 A.V. (High Noon)

The Syliran Knights were not a non-profit organization. Their arms and armor was not provided via charitable donation or magic. They, like any other institution, required funding to maintain operations. This is why business owners sacrifice all profit to the Knights, why they choose to take a wage instead of possible wealth. The limiter placed upon economic expansion was a sacrifice that enabled these men to protect their citizens to the best of their ability. And it seemed, just as well, that they were not an organization that was above mercenary work if the stockpiles had begun to run a little low.

When the subtle chill of winter had begun to creep into Stormhold, and chilled the economies of Syliras, oftentimes other venues of monetary gain had to be taken in order to keep a steady flow of income.

In this way Sighard was introduced to the merchant Wicar Elmkaly. When word reached ears of the merchant’s proposal, he’d already been shoved onto a horse and halfway out of Syliras. The gruff Sergeant Knight who’d addressed him spelled out the instructions pretty clearly, although they were slightly muffled beneath the heavy folds of his thick mustache.

“You’ll be accompanying my Wing and a merchant caravan along the Cobalt Mountains. I expect you and Xalet will see to the needs of every Knight involved in this mission. Be vigilant, and expect that there will be danger.” The older man tossed reached into a long leather case attached horizontally to the side of his steed and pulled out an oaken wooden speak, tossing it in the direction of Sighard.

“You’ll be given a horse to ride and warm furs. Meet us at the gate as quickly as you can muster.” And he trotted off without another word. Five horsed knights followed neatly in his stead and rode with the same elegance along the cobbled streets of 2nd district.

That was several hours ago, and now the man of curiosity was the imposing, wild-maned figure in front. Wicar stood well above six feet, and maintained a barrel chest that sprouted large muscly arms. His skin was a burnt orange that matched the bloody crimson of his hair and he had a pair of thin blue eyes that were scrutinizing. Even in these chilly conditions he wore little more than a vest which exposed much of his naked upper-body and a pair of brown linen pants that trailed down to taper off at sandals. He rode a steed which matched his impressive size, and one wondered why he’d chosen the occupation he had.

The truth of the matter, as Sighard had heard from passing conversation, was that Wicar was a merchant who took on high-risk deals for profit. He often hired whatever mercenaries or knights he could scrape up and took on dangerous undertakings that in time had made him a very rich man. He wielded a great, double-headed axe whose edges were clearly marred with flecks of dried blood and dirt, as if the man had meant to make a statement to any of those who dared look upon his goods with greed. Yet, he was personable enough, and did respect the prestige of the Knights when hired. He was not so frugal in offering his cut to their company.

As for the squire, he seemed in good spirits enough. Uncommon to him was the suit of plate he’d been stuffed in directly following his orders. Although he’d spent many a day practicing in such a uniform, several hours of riding in it made certain parts uncomfortable and it seemed to amplify the chill of the winds which roared ominously from the mountains above. He was draped in a heavy fur cloak that covered much of his body and lapsed onto the medium-sized steed below. His hood was drawn so as to maintain the warmth to his cheeks which had become flushed. It was cold, but the boy was remarkably resilient for his age. His horse had gone every which way as he prioritized talking to every man that was on that trip to gain as much information as he could and to see if the Knights were in need of any assistance. In the back of his head the name Xalet had rung curiously. He’d wondered which of these fine fellows that squire might have been.

The Caravan came to a screeching halt once the group had reached the beginning of the ascent. Wicar wheeled his steed expertly around to face the men that had gathered and offered each of them a glance and satisfactory nod in turn.

“Now we move further away from the domain of the Knights. Be on guard for this will be the most perilous part of the trip, I say.” Wicar’s voice was heavy with an accent that Sighard could not determine, but he spurred his steed into motion at their conclusion and began their long journey forth.

[Xalet]

Xalet had woken up that morning with directions as often appropriated by his Patron. The directions were written upon a piece of precisely folded parchment, almost done so to resemble an artistic example of paper based crafts. When he flipped the paper and found it's secret, which happened to be a tab that could be pulled between two of his large fingers then releasing the corners of the parchment, he found that the instructions themselves were clear enough, however the map itself that the Sergeant had drafted by hand left...something to be desired. The squire spent some time flipping the parchment back and forth, clockwise and counterclockwise, trying to determine just where the map was pointing him. Landmarks seemed out of order, and the roads made lefts and rights that he didn't think existed. "What? Is this some sort of test?" he wondered.

His wonderment eventually gave way to an understanding gained from asking questions and following the trail of answers. Those answers eventually found him at the caravan that he was to be riding with, assisting the Knights as they required. Given his horse and tack, Xalet was off with the rest of the men and women of Syliras to continue carving out honor and prosperity in the area well known to be the true wilds of Syliras. The Cobalt Mountains were a place where the influence of safety and patrols of the Knights did not reach, and although Xalet had stepped foot into the place before his time there had been brief, and the depth of his travels was shallow compared to this.

Xalet wore the armor he had be fitted with for many years. That suit of platemail had followed the squire everywhere and through these many tests he had endured, Xalet attained a knowledge of how to move and operate within it's encumbering confines. Upon a horse or on foot, Xalet's conditioning involving that beat up set of armor had formed him just as his Patron had planned. The Akalak's body was large, and thus he was a large target. Rather than try to hinder his size or devalue his inherent strength, his Patron had trained him to endure rather than evade. To move in the shadows and creep about undetected was not within Xalet's nature, as darkness did not do well for the man. He was a friend of Priskil, just like his Sergeant, and as such it was his task to be seen just like the light that the Radiant Lady represented.

It was clear the enormous squire was somewhat comfortable atop a horse. His training with the beasts had taken many turns over a long arc of years. In the beginning the Akalak couldn't even mount the creatures, as they seemed to display fear or aggression toward his people. Later, it was Xalet that rode with some uncertainty after a lifetime of having non-compliant mounts. Only after several years of training and work did he finally get the creatures to trust him, and then, after all that time the horse he had been utilizing faithfully had been slain. It wasn't something Xalet liked to talk about.

If Sighard watched him, it was clear Xalet didn't talk about much. Generally he kept quiet, his large body shifting slightly back and forth with the gait of his newest horse, a great creature with a 'flea-bitten' coat pattern. It was easy to tell him from a proper Knight, as amidst the sea of brilliantly serviced chrome armor, his was dull, non-reflective, beaten, and even damaged in some places. Armor that fit and protected properly was hard to find for someone Xalet's size, and so he had to take care of the hand-me-down he was given. His deep purple skin was shielded from view underneath all of that armor, the flurries of any passing snow catching upon the fur cloak he wore across his wide shoulders. His large wooden shield, a item that had to be replaced when he was disarmed of his previous one by the Ebonstryfe, was quite possibly the newest looking piece of equipment on his body. The short bladed weapon he wielded, if it was kept somewhere upon his body, was unintentionally hidden from view.

Xalet pulled on the reigns as the entire convoy came to a halt, dropping his gauntlet encased hands atop his lap as the huge Human spoke. He turned to take a look at his surroundings, simply to keep the spacial awareness of his environment fresh around him as his Patron had taught. It was then that Sighard could have seen Xalet's silvered eyes looking past the slat in his helm as his field of view swept across the fellow squire. In that moment Xalet thought briefly if he knew the young man. Appearance was sometimes difficult to place as a member of the Knighthood. Quite often Xalet remembered his squire acquaintances by the accents they had upon their armor, a peculiar weapon they carried, an ornate scabbard that was handed down to them, or an etching upon their armor. He didn't recognize any of that on Sighard.

When the group began to move forward, Xalet squeezed his heels and spoke up to Sighard. When he spoke his sentences were short and direct, typical of an Akalak using the Common tongue, "I have no worked with you before. I am Xalet, squire to Sergeant Irine Braklin."

[Sighard]

The cacophony of trotting hooves was a noisy, but tranquil affair that synchronized with the churning of rusty wheels and the groan of oxen that complained as they strained uphill. A reedy, thin-faced man wearing a straw hat snapped a whip violently into the air and forced the beasts into a more appropriate, ambling rhythm. This noise caught the attention of Sighard who perked upwards, alertly cocking his head in every which direction to assure no assailant had befallen the small party. It was in this spinning gesture of his neck that he caught sight of a rather impressive . . . purple frame? A heaving mass of metal shuddered as it spoke in powerful tones and all at once the boy was speechless. His jaw, shadowed slightly by the arch of a raised hood, fell and hung. The composure of a Beleld could not be held for that moment.

“W-we’ve certainly not met before. I’m so very sure I’d have remembered you . . . Xalet was it?” Sighard coughed deeply into a fist wrapped in sturdy leather. His face, he felt, was more flushed than it had been before and it was due in part to his embarrassment for lack of cordiality in greeting. His preconceptions that the squire would be human were so strong that he’d had several ideas as to who the man would actually be. Xalet had taken him completely by surprise and it took him several moments to regain himself before he spoke again. Luckily the noisy bustle of the crowd filled that short silence and made it seem more natural.

“Forgive my short-comings; I’m greener than I’d like to be.” He chuckled at his joke quickly before continuing, “My name is Sighard Beleld, once squired to a man named Ser Tons before his passing. And forgive my abruptness, but there’s no sense in hiding the fact now that I’ve never seen one of your kind before.” As he spoke he lifted his gaze to eye the male more completely through investigatory orbs which gave subtle flicks to address each part of the man. Sighard marveled at the sheer size of the being that rested so comfortably in his mail and rode his steed with an elegance that the boy lacked. Whatever race the male was examining, Sighard had a mind that it was a fearsome one he was fortunate to have on his side.

Meanwhile, as the group pressed on their was a noticeable drop in temperature that forced the young squire to draw his cloak more tightly upon his body as winds whipped viciously at his exposed skin and tested his resolve. The incline they had begun to move along was steep indeed, and it seemed to continue at this progression for another mile at least. The quiet which accompanied the move from civilization was settling and it seemed that as the group moved more and more from Stormhold and even the Bronze Woods, the more they seemed isolated and swallowed by the precipitous heights of the Cobalt Mountains. Sighard could not imagine kindness in the people who dwelled in this area.

[Xalet]

"Yes." the Akalak responded, reaffirming his name. In a more typical Akalak setting, Xalet would have grown up with two names, similar to a Human that took not only a name but a sur-name. Having moved with his mother into Syliras since before he could remember, Xalet was the only name attached to him. To better speak with Sighard, the squire removed one hand from his reigns just long enough to flip the visor of his helm upward, allowing it to rest upon a groove at the top of his helm. His entire face could be revealed then, and despite his enormous size and deep voice, his face had a certain youth to it, as if Xalet would have only been Sighard's senior by two or three years. From his cheeks to his chin Xalet was well groomed, with no apparent facial hair to speak of. A few strands of his black hair could be seen escaping from the top of his helm down the sides of his temples, although he often took care to slick it back as best he could.

"We never stop learning." Xalet spoke with a reassuring tone. Perhaps the Akalak had seen and been through a bit more than Sighard, but he believed that the entirety of life was an experience. Too many times in the past had he felt he knew enough, only to learn that his knowledge was so insignificant compared to his mentors. "I am an Akalak, but I am first a squire. My skin and height may be different, but we wear the same armor, and serve the same purpose." Xalet wasn't even going to go into the second Soul dwelling inside of him. That was a comment best kept for a later time, when Sighard understood him a bit better. The dark and light that hid itself inside of one body amongst every Akalak was not easily communicated to Humans, or any other race for that matter.

Temperatures were an interesting thing to an Akalak. He didn't just experience it, he witnessed it through his own eyes. The fluctuations of the various bits of warmth amongst those around him. Their exposed skin, their breath, even the creatures pulling the caravan. It all registered through his steely Akalak eyes. His sight was accompanied with an ability to see directly into the infra red spectrum, and thus each sweeping bit of snow that blew through their group created a brilliant glow amongst his normal vision. As their elevation increased, the temperature would continue to decline, and the movement of the air tearing through the mountainside would become more and more uncomfortable.

Xalet knew it was best not to dwell on the cold. Thinking only about that subsequent drop in temperature would give it power within his body. It would make the bite of winter sink much deeper into his veins. Best to keep the mind active, keep the blood flowing, keep fresh breath moving in and out of his lungs. "I know of the name Beleld. They have been in the Knighthood for many years. You started at a very young age then, I am envious. My mother's brother showed me the way into the Knights." Xalet paused for a moment after speaking the largest patch of words he had dispensed since their recent meeting. He seemed to be looking out past the trail, through the endless boundaries of soft white, "They say there is mystery in these mountains. And danger." Of course the Knights and their squires were well equipped, much more so than any typical traveler. That never stopped Xalet from wishing for peace when he traveled. As his Patron would say, 'If there be danger, let it not be on this day'.

[Sighard]

Xalet’s words were no doubt an ominous foretelling that did a fine job of painting the scene before them. Further elevation exposed the breadth of landscape below; rocky crags and valleys were accompanied by a thin layer of snow which lit vibrantly against the sun overhead. The trees which dotted the pale, white mountainside extended sickly brown claws to scrape against the sky and rake the breezes, creating eerie whistles as wind forced its way through their unflinching folds. The Akalak’s notion of mystery and danger was notoriously well founded, and although one could argue the serenity of such a landscape, there was an overarching feeling of uncertainty and dread that pervaded the hearts of men who knew the safety of stone walls and the warmth of perpetual fire. The absence of these guaranteed comforts was staggering for the squire who’d resolved to mentally shut out the scenery and cast a rigid gaze forth.

“If truth be told, I am even humbled to bear the name.” Sighard responded cooly and with a dignified smile that erased the previous look of shock and doubt. Xalet’s recognition of the name caused instinctual waves of pride to lapse against his soul and allowed the boy to forget about his extreme situation. As he shifted to a more comfortable position on his horse his body rocked to the soothing rhythm of his horse’s trot which unevenly scaled the worn, rocky trail. One of his hands held the spear given to him by his Sergeant tightly in a numb grip. The tautness of it had not yet wavered, and he imagined it would not have until they’d safely been returned within the walls of Stormhold. “We have not even pierced the heart. I fear these rumors will be quite founded by the end of the trip.”

Sighard jerked his reins back forth as his horse stubbornly drew the other way, awkwardly forcing his steed to push forth along the daunting climb. Their progression had slowed considerably from their previous efforts, and it was clear that the hill combined with opposing gales would further deter them from their destination. Briefings indicated that the trail will take them some ways up along the heights of the mountains before they hit the winding mountain trails that cut through the various valleys and rises of the peaks. Nestled within this wild territory was to be their prize, a settlement of hardened, outlandish men and women who did business with merchants from all other lands.

After about a minute of uninterrupted silence between the two, Sighard continued. “What is an Akalak?”

[Xalet]

Xalet leaned back in his saddle slightly as the incline increased. Here and there a rogue rock or portion of uneven terrain meddled with his mounts otherwise consistent gait, causing the heavy weight atop the beast's back to shift slightly. He thought about what Sighard had said, about those Cobalt Mountains. There was some comfort in traveling with such a large group as typically different Knights had different skills that could prove useful outside of the city's confines. Xalet couldn't boast any in particular, but he had some knowledge in a few physical technicalities that could help in the wilds. Climbing, swimming, a decent idea of observation, and a body strong enough to pull a man out of danger or a crate of gear back onto it's caravan. As for surviving in the wild, well, Xalet much preferred the stone walls of his home. The fires of the evening torches, the sound of the many speaking to one another.

"I pray to Priskil it will be peaceful." he replied. Faith was a powerful thing, Xalet had seen it first hand. Quite literally. Faith and circumstance had saved him in quite a few circumstances, and he wasn't without his marks and history to show for it. Often people would question his belief in Priskil, the most modest and seemingly passive of the Gods. They could not see her as he did, she wasn't simply just a God, she was a true friend. They had spoken, walked together, shared meetings, information, and she had even carried Xalet personally to her domain. That was a real connection, not something hollow like blind belief.

Xalet found himself ducking now and again from a sparse low hanging tree limb, shifting his horse to the opposite edge of the trail to reduce such occurrences. Existing with such height had it's disadvantages. Outside of his sight, a wild bird cried into the air, it's voice echoing down in the valleys. Afterward, Xalet found himself posed with a question he could not easily answer. What was an Akalak? Obviously Xalet, but how did he define himself as an Akalak? He had not gotten the opportunity to grow up in their culture, where certainly most of the differences would have been more easily explained. "My people mostly hail from a city called Riverfall, far to the west. We are an all male civilization, there is no such thing as a female Akalak. By nature we have larger frames and greater mass than Humans. We can also, as I understand it, see things that you cannot. A Human cannot see the radiance of hot and cold, so I've been told. I wouldn't know what it's like not to be able to see it. I am much like you I would assume though, as I came to Syliras many years ago. We study the same things, I would assume. Weapons, tactics, riding, strength training, unarmed combat, yes?"

The largest and most striking difference between the Akalak's and nearly everything else, was the distinct co-habitation of a body by two Souls. This was something almost no other species could comprehend, or even remotely begin to understand. It wasn't simply two personalities, or two trains of interest, it was literally two spirits with two separate sets of goals, ethics, desires, wants, fears, and loves. It's complexity kept it well tucked away from the people Xalet interacted with until either he trusted them implicitly, or it came out on it's own.

[Sighard]

Sighard submitted his attention to Xalet, cocking his head in a way that his gaze was linear with the large being. Although his frame rocked with the uneasy sway of the climb his eyes seemed to maintain their enduring lock on the Akalak as he spoke in tones that complemented his mass. An appropriate nod was given here and there to maintain the formality and flow of the conversation, and pauses in the larger male’s speech opened it up to indecipherable hums which were pensive in nature. Sighard was a naturally curious being at his age, although such interests were limited to the proximity of his home. He shuddered to think of what new and strange things would be found in this frostbitten chunk of rock.

Moments dwindled and hung in the cold air, sinking and then depressing into the cold ground where they were trapped and allowed the passers-by to examine the very ebb of time. The pace of their progress had not ceased, but it seemed appropriate that the frigid air would begin to temper with the mentality of all involved. Sighard was no exception to this rule, and became rather subdued by the frigid embrace of the cold air which wrapped its arms intimately about the young man and gave him a teasing kiss. He maintained, begrudgingly, as he spoke to the Akalak after a time of reflection.

“All impressive and envious qualities—I’d very much be blessed to have the physical abilities you maintain. Your people must be a proud one.” Sighard’s clear ignorance to the darker side of being an Akalak showed true in the statement; his very direct galvanization of the squire that rode aside him was clear indication of his adolescent tendency to find those he could look up to and try to mimic, regardless of the fact that the male was perceivably only a couple of years older. He seemed so impressed with Xalet’s tale, in fact, that he seemed to completely erase the memory of the man’s thoughtful prayer. The boy’s accelerated thought processes often helped his unintentional ignorance. His family’s history as putting the Windoak in the highest reverence often shut out the possibility of idol worship.

“But you’re right . . . We’re brothers all the same working towards the common interest of Syliras. There is comfort in that as we plunge deeper into these mountains.” His voice trailed as he regarded his surroundings once more, giving the unique beauty of the area their due, but equally recognizing the grim faces painted on men beneath their helmets which, were held taut, held indications of dismay and subtle paranoia.

[Xalet]

"Strengths and weaknesses, like all others. You too can push your body and achieve much." Such was the theory of his Patron, a Konti who stood nearly a foot and a half shorter than he. Strength and conditioning won many battles, along side with an adequate weapon and a properly maintained set of armor. Xalet had seemed like he was going to explain further, when suddenly his attention moved toward the front of their large precession. Those in the beginning of the caravan had stopped, with the horses of the Knights that followed halting in sequence as well.

The wilds of the Cobalt Mountains were ever changing as the whether and the wildlife dictated. Things grew and things died, much like the large piece of lumber which had fallen down the mountain pass. From the looks of it, the tree had been struck by lightning on a previous night and had toppled down from the side of a crag wall eventually resting at the bottom of the pass. Large scores in the dirt showed where it's weight made the most impact from the fall, the pressure and velocity of the strike having broken the trunk nearly in half upon it's uppermost one third. Various limbs and branches littered the ground, leaving a few of the Knights to mind their horses as they approached the fallen foliage in order to determine how to circumvent it.

One of the Knights waved a gauntlet in the air, beckoning as he called, "Squires to the front!"

"We made it a good distance without a problem, if this is the worst of it I'll consider it a victory." Xalet mentioned briefly to Sighard before urging his horse forward in order to receive instruction. As he and his fellow squire drew closer, they could hear the tale end of the conversation the Knights and their employer had been involved in.

"...can't get around it, not with the wagon. It can be moved, we just need-- ah, squires..." the Knight that had drawn them over to the front turned his horse a quarter circle and included the two servants of Syliras into their plans, "Alright listen up! We'll need you to fit ropes around the broken end of the tree, loop them, and tie them to the horses. It'll be faster than chopping it. If we can pull the larger of the broken halves back we should be able to create enough width for everything to pass. They'll be pulling downhill, so that's to our advantage l. When the ropes are set, I'll need you and you." he then motioned toward two other Knights, "To help the squires push while the horses pull, and we'll direct the horses downward. Got it? Good. Are there any questions? I see none." almost as if scripted, one of the Knights began to raise his hand upon that final question from their leader, only to elicit a quick response followed by the chuckling of his peers, "I SAID I see none! Let's move!"

[Sighard]

“I’ll ah’ve yer heads if dem horses go lame. Ain’t any interest in broken product.” Wicar grumbled. His voice mimicked the frost-bitten rock of the mountain and his gaze was a fiery bullet that shot towards the Sergeant Knight and penetrated the stony carapace of his demeanor. The merchant’s wrists flicked elegantly and snapped the reins against his steed which spurred it to motion. It’s rippling, muscular frame fluidly drove the stout man to the front of the group. Wicar gave the log a menacing gaze that ought to have shattered the wood in two and spat rock hard phlegm that clacked against the tough exterior. “’Peh, I’ve a mind ta slice this thing meself. . .” His arm jerked forth to accord to his words, reaching back so that his meaty fingers could lace about the thick, leather-bound handle of his weapon.

“Save your axe for more menacing foes.” The moustache’d Sergeant’s retort was whiplike and momentarily stung the unbreakable resolve of the merchant and caused his grip to loosen upon his weapon. “You’ll find the Knight’s as competent a workforce as any group of laborers, I assure you.” He whistled sharply and whirled on his mount towards the matter at hand. His direction loosely scattered his troops into perceptive disarray, although this quickly congealed into a synchronized effort under his stern, unwavering gaze.

Sighard worked rhythmically, asserting motions that warmed the frigid, creaking joints of his tired frame and loosened them to workable malleability. Metal skin served to work against him. It was a torturous device that amplified and refrigerated his body heat. The clawed fingers of his gauntlet wrapped tight and awkwardly against the rough hempen material before shoving it over the side and neatly looping through. He rasped hoarsely, a malicious cloud of fog expanding from his stiff cracked lips and curling upwards to embrace the gray skies above. His work wasn’t finished.

The effort was collective upon drawing the rope about the harness of his steed and returning to mount. His neck craned, rigidity setting in all limbs when this icy atmosphere was involved, and ascertained the coordination of instruction with the other squire with a gimpy nod. He snapped his reins, and shattered the thickening sound barrier with a powerful echo akin to the smashing of fragile glass. His steed shuddered, groaned, and began to trot forth. The ropes began to stretch, became taut, and ushered in another annoyed whine as the mount began to press uneasily against the resistance of this newfound foe. The worst of it is over. Ride now and let this pause be over.

A cacophony composed of the earnest grunts of men, shift of chain and metal and hoarse barking of Knight and Merchant assembled to press the large monument onwards against the rocky grain of the mountain trail. Its procession was marked by the powerful sound of grating wood which compounded against the noisy agitations of men and steed and caused the still forest to become enlivened. Animals scattered and birds, black as night flapped their haunting ebon wings and cawed feverishly forth. The chaos of this minute was formidable and then it died, returning to its uneasy, fidgeting slumber.

“Push on,” came the insistence of their leader.

[Xalet]

Xalet worked along side of Sighard as best he could. The cold penetrated his body just like anyone else's, the only difference was the amount of surface area he had in contact with the frigid air. Up above the sun did the group no favors as it took to hiding behind a mass of clouds moving in through the area. Large grey puffs of white climbed across the peaks of the mountains and screened any warmth the fiery golden sun would have given. Xalet looked upward, trying to gauge whether or not the clouds would bring inclement weather with them. A mixture of his own inexperience with weather forecasting as well as the ambiguity of the clouds told him no stories.

He did well to keep his breath to himself, taking in oxygen to allow his blood to heat the rest of his body. Even once in a while he would shake his hands and arms out, the clattering of metal resounding softly past the folds of his cloak as he regained the full measure of manual dexterity to make a sufficient knot. Resting a knee against the base of the trunk he crossed the rope lengths before him, twisting and looping them until they were secure enough for such a task. Yanking backward twice in quick succession, he physically tested their staying power and found it appropriate. Sighard looked to be finished as well.

The Knights and squires moved into position. Even with little instruction, it seemed the group of Syliran's went about their given tasks without question, working efficiently and quickly, trying to get back upon the road, rather than stay within the wind tunnel of the valley for too long. Xalet was starting to consider growing out his facial hair if it would have kept his cheeks and chin the slightest bit warm. Horses moved, men moved, Xalet found himself upon the opposite side of the tree, digging his palms into it's base, bending his legs to extreme levels in order to press the loin's share of his hefty weight into it's side. Then the tree moved, yielding to the combined efforts of men and beasts, and without much time wasted. A fair spot of teamwork.

Xalet's toes dug into the side of the mountain as he moved with the log until the order was given to stop, causing him to fold downward onto his palms. The quickest bit of breath was regained before he pushed his way back to his feet, trying to trivialize any loss of stamina. The cold was sucking the strength away from him quicker than usual. His Patron would have a fit to see her squire tired after such 'little' exertion, he had to hide it for now. As the wagon and the Knights began to move, Xalet hustled over to his horse, taking in a swallow of air before vaulting himself up and onto the saddle, pulling the reigns into his lap. "...no problem...right?" he said to Sighard before maneuvering his horse to face back up the mountainside and urged it onward.